


Powered Individuals

by tashaxxxxxx



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23129890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tashaxxxxxx/pseuds/tashaxxxxxx
Summary: The musketeers have superpowers and use them to try to help other people but with these powers come issues of their own.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

No one knows how superpowers came into the world. Some believed it was an act of God, others that they were the results of illegal government experiments. There weren’t many superpowers. Probably less than 1% of the worlds population. A lot of the world were curious about those with powered, most were frightened. So those with these special abilities chose to remain hidden more often than not, for fear of what the rest of the world would think.

The musketeers had been an idea at first. A damn good one if you asked Captain Treville but just an idea. No one, not even Treville, thought it would work. A tactical unit of powered people who could help in the cases where no one else could. It was a foolish idea. But Louis Bourbon, a young French man who had recently inherited his Fathers substantial fortune had heard Treville’s idea and decided to fund it. 

Captain Treville had only recently retired from his service to the French military, following a distinguished career. He had been close to Louis’ Father and had known the youngster since he was a child. Treville had made his position on powered individuals clear while working the military, a fact which Treville reflected most likely caused his early retirement. Most of his colleagues believed powered people had no business in society, that they were freaks of nature. As such, when Treville came along spouting ideas that they could actually be their best assets he was laughed away.

....

It was Aramis who gave him the idea first. The young man had been in the army since he was 18 years old and had proven himself quickly among his comrades. He had the best aim the army, as far as Treville was concerned, never missing a shot no matter how far away the target was. It helped that Aramis had a quick wit that charmed everyone around him. Aramis was a hit with everyone, senior offices included but he was no slacker. Most snipers, Treville found, would stay away from the main fighting, preferring to stay out of the action and never see their victims up close. Aramis on the other hand was more than happy to slog in the mud with his comrades, keeping their spirits up and providing medical assistance on the field (Aramis had once told Treville that he had wanted to train to be a Doctor).

Treville would found Aramis an exemplary solider before Savoy. After it, well the lads estimations in Treville’s mind sky rocketed.

Savoy had been a shit show. The worst incident in military history for years. It was meant to be a simple mission, get in get out. A refugee camp in Syria had been overrun by rebels, threatening to murder everyone there. 40 men, women and children. Aramis’ unit had been sent in the rescue refugees, while dangerous was a common occurrence for special ops teams. Expect it had been an ambush.

No one was sure what happened out there. Only that the rebels had known about the attempted rescue and it had been a massacre. And in the middle of that massacre, Aramis had somehow managed to rescue 2 children from the dying remains of the refugee camp. He had returned with a grim look on his face and shaking from blood loss and shock, carrying to small children both miraculously unhurt.

No one had believed it and Aramis had been to delirious by that point to explain any of it. The most anyone had managed to get out of him was that they had been attacked in the night a mile from were the refugees were being held hostage. All of the men had been slaughtered in the night. The only reason Aramis had survived was because of Marsac, who had dragged him away from the camp when Aramis had taken a blow to the head that knocked him unconscious. Marsac had abandoned Aramis then. Treville couldn’t blame the man, fear could turn even the bravest soul to a quivering mess. Marsac had been picked up at the airport a few weeks later jabbering nonsense and been subsequently discharged as a deserter.

That was all anyone had gotten out of the usually outspoken Aramis. Except Treville.

He hadn’t known Aramis long, the lad being transferred from his unit when the military realised how skilled he was with a rifle. Except Treville was the only one around that Aramis could speak to. All his friends had died in the attack and it didn’t appear that Aramis had any family to visit him.

So Treville spent all his free time the month Aramis spent recovering at nearest army hospital sitting with the younger man. Treville wasn’t sure why he did it, part of it was certainly because he wanted to know how Aramis had gotten himself and 2 young children out of a hostile situation but it wasn’t just that.

“Why are you here? Aramis asked him once, his brown eyes full of anguish and confusion.

It was the first time the young man had spoken nearly 2 weeks after being found wandering the Syrian wilderness on his way back to base. “You did a brave thing and you don’t deserve to be alone.”

A tear leaked out of Aramis’ eyes, his eyes taking on a glazed look as he relived God knew what. “I let them die.” Aramis whispered, hand clutching the rosary he had not let go of since awakening.

“You saved 2 lives. That is more than anyone in your situation could have done.” Treville said, keeping his voice calm. Post traumatic stress disorder brought on by the guilt of being the lone survivor in a horrendous attack. Treville knew that even years later Aramis would still be reliving this horrendous moment for the rest of his life.

“You don’t understand.” Aramis croaked, eyes dripping to his lap where he still clutched the rosary.

“Then explain it to me?” Treville prompted and when Aramis looked at home with wide vulnerable brown eyes that should not have been seen on a grown man, Treville grabbed Aramis’ hand that was running fingers up and down the rosary. He had meant to comfort him, to offer some sort of reassurance to Aramis that he would be fine. Instead what he felt was a tingling up him arm and Aramis’ strangled groan.

Treville had been shot 2 months prior to this to his shoulder. The wound had healed but it had hurt him ever since. Now the warm tingling he felt from touch Aramis’ hand travelled to up to his shoulder. Gasping, Treville flinched back as Aramis collapsed onto the bed face as white as a sheet. Curiously, Treville lifted his shoulder up. A movement that would have caused sharp shooting pain not 5 minutes ago was now as easy as it had ever been.

“What...Aramis, are you ok?” The younger man looked physically sick and Treville quickly wondered about calling a nurse.

“Just...need a...minute.” Aramis gasped, closing his eyes. When they reopened again after a worrying 5 minutes they looked at Treville full of fear and trepidation.

“Aramis, are you ok.” Aramis nodded and Treville let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. “What happened?” Aramis said nothing, fingers going back to running them across his rosary. Then something clicked in his head. Treville had never met a powered person before but it was suddenly so obvious. “You’re powered?”

Aramis nodded once. When Treville didn’t speak, Aramis looked up. He obviously expected to find fear or revulsion there and was obviously confused when Treville went on to say, “That is wonderful.”

“You’re not afraid?” Aramis’ voice was full of confusion and it broke Treville’s heart a little.

“No.”

Aramis suddenly seemed to come to a decision then as he started to speak, telling Treville what had actually happened when he had saved the children. “After they had killed everyone, after Marsac had run...I could have turned back, gone with Marsac. I was scared but all I could think of was the people we had come to help. I waited until nightfall, to be honest I think I lost consciousness for most of the day. When I got to the refugee camp they...they were executing them. Innocent people.” Aramis had to pause for a moment, throat tightening with emotion. Treville silently handed a tissue to the man as Aramis fought to keep his emotions in check. “There were only 3 of the men left behind. I think they’d killed most of the refugees so I shot them down with my rifle.” Treville felt a surge of pride at the thought. Aramis had obviously been injured badly by this point but he’d still done what most seasoned soldiers would have been to frightened to do. “But I was too late. They were all dead. Expect the 2 children.” Aramis paused again, tears running down his cheeks now. “They were half dead when I found them. I tried to stop the bleeding but it was too late. They never would have made it back. There was too much blood.”

“You healed them?” Treville asked when it became obvious Aramis couldn’t continue. His body was shaking with sobs and Treville put a comforting hand on the other man’s shoulder. “I couldn’t save anyone else. I should have though. I should have.” Aramis whispered. Treville knew Aramis was wrong, that he’d done everything he could possibly do. But he also knew there was no reasoning with a man so lost in despair.

Instead Treville held Aramis close as the memories of Savoy hit him over and over again.

.....

Porthos had a reputation in the army, not necessarily a good one either. In a lot of ways, Porthos was an excellent solider. On the field he followed orders. He was an excellent shot and he knew how to handle himself in a fight. In fairness, Treville believed that was an understatement in Porthos’ file. The larger man was one of the most gifted brawlers he’d seen. He had his bigger girth, which was always an advantage when dealing with smaller opponents. But unlike other larger men, Porthos was quick and nimble on his feet. If not for his perchance for gambling, Porthos would have gone very far.

Treville had heard of Porthos by reputation before he’d ever met him. He’d been considering transferring Porthos into his own unit but the mans current senior officer was advising Treville against it. Truthfully, Treville couldn’t stand the man. He wouldn’t know talent if it his him square in the face. But after reading Porthos’ file fully Treville was starting to have a few doubts.

Porthos was orphaned at the age of 3 and had grown up in the foster care system. A recipe for disaster as he had been arrested numerous times for stealing and one aggravated assault. The last had earned Porthos (aged 14 then) a trip to Juvie. Apparently the judge had told Porthos he was lucky he wasn’t a year older or he would have ended up in prison. When Porthos had gotten out, he had somehow made the decision to turn his life around and had joined the army at 16. Porthos had stop out immediately into the ranks of his fellow soldiers and excelled quickly.

The only problem, Treville found as he read further through Porthos’ file, was the gambling and fighting. A lot of the men gambled, Treville knew this. He had even spent a time or to in his younger days trying his hand at cards. But Porthos was apparently a notorious cheater. Which ultimately lead to bar brawls. Porthos had been warned a few times and had started to calm down a bit, or at least stopped cheating so obviously that there were a few years marked clean on Porthos’ records.

Except for the last 12 months, since Porthos had transferred under his current Captain, Captain Cluzet. Porthos obviously had a problem withe Cluzet, or Cluzet had a problem with Porthos. The latter seemed more likely to Treville considering the disdain the man had shown when Treville had first asked for Porthos to be transferred into his unit.

“Why me?” Porthos asked as he stood to attention in front of captain Treville and Cluzet. 

“You will address your senior officers by sir.” Cluzet snarled at Porthos who glared right back at the man.

“It’s a fair question.” Treville started, trying to clear the tension in the air. Yes, there was definitely an issue between these two and Treville was becoming more and more certain it was an issue with Cluzet. “According to your record you are one of the finest soldiers in the army, I’m looking for the best of the best. If you’re intersected?”

“I can sure you if you’re looking for the best, I can recommend a lot better than Porthos.” Cluzet started as Porthos clenched his fists, obviously holding back the urge to hit his commanding office. To be honest, Treville was close to hitting the man to.

Choosing to ignore the other Captain for the time being, Treville looked directly at Porthos. “The papers are all signed and you can be transferred within the week.”

Porthos grunted as he met Treville’s gaze level on. “Thank you sir.”

The next week Porthos was packed up and moving into Treville’s men’s barracks. Porthos proved to be as valuable member as Treville had hoped for. But what surprised Treville most was when he brought Aramis into his small team of men. Porthos had been with Treville for 2 years now (10 years in the army overall). He was well respected by the men and Treville hoped the larger man could help bring Aramis back to his old self.

It was a gamble. Treville knew this. By all rights, 6 months after Savoy, Aramis should have been given an honourable discharge. He certainly deserve red it and if the regular nightmares were anything to go by Aramis probably wasn’t right for the field anymore either. But Aramis had insisted and Treville had agreed to take him on. Even if his comrades called him insane for doing it. Aramis might have been one of the best soldiers in the army but right now the man was a flight risk.

The reason he was doing it was very simple. Over the last 2 years, Treville had gotten to know Porthos very well. And while it was obvious Porthos was strong, there was no way he was as strong as he was. Porthos was careful and Treville was sure now one but himself suspected anything. But Treville was observant and curious. He had considered just asking the man outright but didn’t think Porthos would accept that very well.

“Porthos, I need a favour.” Porthos was stood in front of Treville’s desk looking as serious as he ever did when in front of his commanding officer. “We have a new recruit coming in this afternoon, I need you to keep an eye on him.”

“He coming in from training?” Porthos asked and looked a bit confused when Treville shook his head.

“Aramis has been serving for the last 6 years, most of that time being in the special forces. He is an expert shooter and field medic.” Porthos was looking more confused than anything now so Treville decided to elaborate. He couldn’t give Porthos the full details both for the sake of Aramis’ privacy and the fact that Savoy was confidential information. “He was the lone survivor of a raid that went wrong 6 months ago. He’s only just coming back to active duty and I need someone to keep an eye on him.” Porthos nodded.

It turned out, putting Porthos and Aramis together was the best thing Treville could have ever done. The 2 became very close very quickly. Most of the other men under his command stayed away from Aramis at first. After Savoy, Aramis had turned inward, not speaking to anyone unless spoken to and certainly not socialising. He flinched at every loud bang or if someone came to close to him and Treville was honestly starting to worry he’d made the wrong decision. Aramis wasn’t ready for this. Not yet.

Except Porthos had taken his orders seriously and had obviously warmed to Aramis quickly. Wherever Aramis went, Porthos seemed to appear, joking or just talking to the younger man. Once, Treville saw them in the weapons room, Aramis bent over his rifle hands shaking and silently sobbing while Porthos rubbed slow circles on his back. Treville had hidden behind the door, not wanting to interrupt as Porthos offered any comfort he could. The bigger man might seem forbidding and dangerous but he also had a heart of gold.

Slowly, Porthos managed to draw Aramis out of the shell he had hidden in, making the younger man laugh slowly at first and then loudly and more often. Within the year, Aramis was as close as he could be to his normal self after everything that had happened. Of course there was still the nightmares or odd panic attacks but Porthos was always there to clam him down.

It was 14 months since Aramis joined Treville’s team when he finally found out the truth of Porthos’ powers. He and Porthos had been separated from the rest of their teams, not an uncommon occurrence, when they had been attacked by rebels with machine gun. Having no other choice, they had taken cover in a cave only for the rebels to place an explosion at the front and bring the rocks tumbling around them.

Treville had woken coughing in the white dust of rocks with his legs trapped under a giant boulder. Porthos was no where in sight. Coughing and trying to wipe the rock dust out of his yes, Treville attempted to move the boulder but with little effort.

“Captain!” Porthos’ voice shouted from a few meters away. Treville tried to move his head but his vision was blurry. Lifting his fingers to his forehead, he realised he was surprised to find blood.

“I’m here.” Treville shouted, wincing at the croaky quality of his voice. Porthos stumbled over next, blood travelling sluggishly down his forehead to.

“You ok?” Porthos asked, glancing at the boulder crushing Treville’s legs down.

“I’m trapped.” Treville replied. A sudden louder bang went off and the rocks above started to all down. Porthos ducked down covering the upper half of Treville as tiny rocks scattered around them.

“Think they’re mad.” Porthos grinned as Treville let out a breathy laugh. His legs were starting to lose feeling which he knew was not a good thing. “We need to move that.”

“It’s not possible, too big.” Treville retorted. “Go for help, I’ll be fine.” Treville knew hew wouldn’t be, not with rebels out there, but he would be damned if he let Porthos die with him.

“I can get it off.” Porthos replied and before Treville could argue, he was lifting the boulder with strength that should not have been humanely possible. Treville gasped in pain when Porthos lifted the rock and pushed it to the side away from them. “Captain?” Porthos asked, concern clear in his eyes as he watched Treville gasp for breath. 

“I’m good.” Treville nodded.

“Don’t think so sir, you’re leg looks pretty bad.” Porthos grunted, looking down Treville saw bone sticking through the skin on his left leg. 

“Should’ve brought Aramis.” Treville managed to gasp out before promptly passing out.

The next thing he remembered was waking up in a the barracks with Porthos and Aramis sitting next to him. Aramis seemed to be fast asleep in what could not have been a comfortable position. 

“What happened?” Treville managed after taking a sip of the water next to him.

“Aramis turned up with re-enforcements. Managed to back the rebels up and Aramis found us in the cave.” Treville nodded, doing a quick once over. He remembered being trapped under the rock, then Porthos lifting it. Exposing his broken leg with the bone sticking out. Gasping, Treville tried to move his leg and realised that he could. As if it had never been broken.

“Aramis healed me?” Treville asked, earning a nod from Porthos. “No wonder he’s asleep.” Treville sighed, glancing over at the younger man still sound asleep in the chair.

“Aramis said I could trust you. That you weren’t afraid of us.” Treville instantly knew what Porthos mean when he said us. Powered people.

“Super human strength?” Porthos nodded, a wary look still on his face. “Thought as much.” Porthos looked shocked, causing Treville to laugh. “You’re not as subtle as you might think.”

At this, Porthos threw back his head and laughed loudly.

.....

Athos was sitting on a stool, nursing a cup of whiskey, as Treville watched he downed it and motioned the bartender for another. “He’s been at it all night.” Aramis chirped up from next to Treville.

“When did you get here?” Treville asked, having not heard Aramis appear. The younger man just grinned knowingly.

“Just getting a drink for a friend.” Aramis grinned, turning around winking at a stunning brunette sitting a few tables over. She grinned back at Aramis and Treville tried not to roll his eyes. Hard to think how far Aramis had come in the last 18 months.

“Don’t be late for role call. And don’t cause trouble.” Treville replied, resigning himself to the fact that Aramis would ignore at least the last part of that sentence. Aramis saluted him as he sauntered back over the beautiful lady. Trouble always found Aramis.

Looking up at Athos, Treville watched him down another shot of whiskey. It was a rare night off and the bar was full. Porthos was in the corner with a group of other men playing cards. Hopefully he would keep it clean and there would be no brawling tonight.

Athos had only been in the unit for a few weeks. He was quiet, keeping himself to himself. If not for the fact he had a great tactical mind Treville might have let him go already. As it was, Athos had not integrated well yet.

Treville had been hoping Athos would start to integrate better at the bar but instead Treville was steadily watching the man drink himself into an early grave. That much whiskey could not be healthy for anyone.

Deciding to intervene before things got too messy, Treville walked up to the bar and signalled for a whiskey of his own. “Captain.” Athos drawled, not looking up from his whiskey glass. He was observant, Treville could give him that.

“How many have you had?” Treville asked, voice stern.

“Does it matter.” Athos’ voice didn’t even slur once and if what Aramis said was true and he had been drinking all night there was no way the man in front of him could be sitting up straight. An impressive feat. Athos snorted into his whiskey glass, trying to hide a laugh Treville would guess but about what he had no idea. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I want you in my office at sun-up tomorrow.” Treville replied, deciding to leave the other man to his drink.

“Captain.” Athos offered a slight salute to the Captain before turning back to his whiskey.

Athos had been a bit of a gamble. Rumours were that he had a drinking habit. And a bad one at that. If not for the fact he was an excellent solider and never showed up drunk or even a little bit hungover he would never have gotten out of basic training. As it was, if Athos could kick the drinking habit he would probably get himself Captain one day. Treville sighed, his team were starting to get a reputation in the army as misfits and trouble makers.

Between Porthos’ gambling and fighting and Aramis sleeping with every woman (and sometimes man) who came anywhere near him, he had hoped to avoid another hard work case. Instead he had agreed to Athos’ transfer. Damn it, Treville couldn’t understand why the best men caused the most problems.

The next morning he wasn’t surprised to find Porthos and Aramis late to role call. He was surprised, however, to find Athos standing to attention one of the first to arrive. Aramis jogged in a few minutes into role call, flashing a charming smile at Treville which he returned with a glare, followed closely by Porthos who met Treville’s gaze with an apologetic shrug.

Sighing Treville turned to Athos, Aramis and Porthos and shouted “You 3 my office now.” A phrase which would haunt him for years to come.

With the 3 standing in front of him, Treville laid out the mission for them. “It’s a stealth op, surveillance.” Treville added in case they had any doubts, look straight at Aramis and Porthos as he said: “No need for any trouble, just watch what they do and report back.”

Why was it every easy mission went completely awry.

A day later, Aramis and Porthos arrived back at barracks and no Athos. “What the hell happened?” Treville shouted as Aramis and Porthos climbed out of the jeep.

“It was an ambush.” Aramis got out, hand going to what Treville presumed where his rosary beads in his pockets.

“Where’s Athos?” Treville shouted in greeting.

“Taken.” Porthos replied through gritted teeth.

“I think Athos knew they were there.” Aramis suddenly added, glancing at Treville and Porthos as if something had suddenly dawned on him. “When we got to the surveillance site, Athos told us to wait in the jeep while he took a look around.”

Porthos was nodding as he picked up where Aramis left off. “Yeah, we heard gunshots and went to run into the building when 8 guys came out with machine guns. Athos was unconscious. They shot straight at us, we didn’t have a choice but the retreat for help. Too many of them” This last bit Porthos directed at Aramis and Treville could only imagine this scenario was replaying images of Savoy in Aramis’ head.

“Was he alive?” Treville asked, receiving nods of confirmation from both men. “Then get back in the jeep, lets get our man back.” Another time, Treville would ask how Athos knew it was an ambush. Right now he was focused on getting him out of their alive.

By the time they got back to the surveillance site, it was fully dark. Aramis jumped out of the jeep with his rifle to do a full sweep of the area while Porthos and Treville went into house Athos had been taken. There was fresh blood on the ground. Saying nothing they silently searched the house but came up empty.

“Find anything?” Aramis asked when he reappeared about 30 minutes later.

“Nothing.” Porthos replied. “You?”

“Yeah, few miles east someone’s lit a campfire. Could be they’re holding up there, waiting for something.” Aramis replied as they went back to the jeep.

“Waiting for what?” Aramis shrugged at Porthos’ answer as the bigger man started the car.

When they reached the small campfire, Treville watched in fascination as Aramis and Porthos worked silently. Treville didn’t go into the field much but when it was one of their own in danger he felt it was his duty to help. Because of this, he rarely got to see how easily his team worked together so seeing Aramis and Porthos’ near silent communication was impressive.

“Captain, can you be get a way driver?” Porthos whispered as the two men made their way back to Treville’s position by the car. The Captain nodded.

Aramis is going to provide some cover from up there. Porthos pointed towards the cliff face just above the camp where Aramis had already started to jog off to. “Then I’m gonna grab Athos and we’re gonna run like hell.” Treville nodded, silently hoping someone could get the message to Athos what was about to happen.

As it turns out, someone had. Or rather they had. When Porthos gave the signal, a flick of his lighter, Aramis turned on the fire power, aiming straight at the men holding Athos hostage. Ducking around the men grabbing guns, Porthos reached Athos only to find the man had already gotten through his bonds and was grabbing a rifle from a dead man nearby. Before Porthos could say to run Athos was leading the way back to the car and Treville. 

As soon as they were I the car, Treville put his foot down only slowing down enough to let Aramis jump in the back when they passed his position.

Aramis went straight over to Athos to check for scrapes and bruises but only found a few small cuts which he declared didn’t need stitching. They were silent as Treville drove over the bumpy terrain, no one speaking a word. Athos was staring out at the trees with a slight frown on his face. As Treville glanced at the man in the rear view mirror he had a sudden thought that the man might want to die.

“No, I don’t.” Athos replied to Treville’s though without hesitation.

“I didn’t say anything.” Treville replied. Aramis and Porthos were glancing at each other, expressions ones of curiosity asAthos froze on the spot.

“You didn’t.” Treville replied no to this. “I must have just been thinking to loud.”

“No I don’t want?” Aramis asked as Athos continued to glare out of the window.

When Athos didn’t answer, Treville did. “Die. I was thinking that Athos looked like he would be happy to die and he said he didn’t.” Athos barely flinched, just continued to glare out into the dark wilderness.

“You can read minds?” Porthos asked. Treville had pulled the jeep to a stop. They were a far enough distance away to not worry about pursuers and Aramis had blown out the tyres on their cars anyway.

Athos didn’t respond, just continuing to sit in silence. Treville took that as a sign f the truth. If it wasn’t true surely Athos would have said something. “You’re powered then?’ Aramis went onto say and Athos turned a sharp glare on the other man. No, Treville though, Athos didn’t want to die. He might drink like a fish and not seem to care to much about his own safety but he didn’t want to die. Athos’ sharp eyes turned on him and Treville instantly felt guilty about thinking about the man especially now knowing he could hear him.

“We are to.” Porthos replied. That earned a surprise look out of Athos. “At least me and ‘mis are.” Aramis smiled at Athos as his glare turned into one of curiosity. But still a bit of a glare, Treville thought.

“How?” Porthos grinned at Athos’ question and picked up a bit of scrap metal from the front seat. He didn’t even break of sweat as he bent it in to. Athos’ expression barely changed but his eyes glinted a bit as if in shock. Next Athos’ eyes turned to Aramis and the younger man grinned and placed a hand on Athos’ face. Gasping in chock, Athos touched the area where a newly forming black eye was only to find it gone (the swelling as well).

“I’ve never met anyone else like me before.” Athos mumbled, eyes dropping down as Porthos gave the mans knee a pat and Aramis swung an arm round his shoulder.

“Well you’ve got us now.” Porthos replied and Aramis nodded enthusiastically from his place next to Athos.

........

6 years after that Treville formed the musketeers. For the remainder of his 4 years in the army, Treville had worked closely with Athos, Aramis and Porthos in using their powers to help people wherever they could.

Athos’ telepathy explain how the man had such an uncanny tactile mind. He already knew what his enemies where thinking before they had even done it. This gave them a great advantage in the field. It also explained why Athos drank so much, at least in part. The voices were too much, too overpowering to the point where the only thing that could drown them out was to drown himself in alcohol. Secretly, Treville thought there was another reason Athos drank so heavily but it wasn’t his place to ask.

Porthos’ incredible strength was also a great asset. Athos and Aramis had lost count of the number of times the larger mans strength has saved their lives from moving boulders which should have been immoveable to allow them a hasty escape from enemy fire to breaking the locks and chains if they were taken captured. Of course Porthos’ feats of strength did take a toll on the larger man. Moving heavy objects required a large amount of energy. Treville presumed it was a bit like a body builder. Porthos needed to keep his energy up to allow him to heavier objects. Hence the reason the man was always eating the barracks it of house and home, that and Porthos rather enjoyed Serge’s cooking.

Aramis’ powers were no less helpful in and out of the field. A serious injury that could mean the death of a comrade was quickly turned into a small scratch. No wonder Savoy had been so hard, to know that you could save lives with a simple touch but for it to be too late to do it; Treville had a new appreciation for how Aramis had and still did blame himself for all those deaths. Of course, Aramis’ powers took a toll on his body similar to the way Porthos’ did. But while Porthos’ was a more controlled bout of strength which could be reigned in if necessary, Aramis’ power could make Aramis dizzy, weak and on one memorable moment black out of 2 days. Porthos had been furious when Aramis had woken up after that.

Treville had n doubt that his teams powers were dangerous but he became more and more convinced that the danger posed was not towards the wider world but to the individuals themselves.

So when Louis came to Treville offering him the money needed to start the Musketeers, the first 3 people Treville called were Athos, Porthos and Aramis.

And he had never felt happier for it. Even if between the 3 of them they were going to give him a heart attack one day.


	2. Chapter 2

“Are you sure it’s down here?” D’artagnan asked as he followed his Father down a small back alley in the middle of France.

“Positive.” His Father threw his son a grin over his shoulder. “This is exactly the way me and your Mother went on our first date.”

“Well, if you’re sure.” D’artagnan said a laugh in his voice. His Father had insisted. D’artagnan had gotten out of Army service a month ago and apparently his Father had been planning the trip to France from Gascony for months beforehand. He wanted to show his son the city he had first met his wife, who had passed away 2 years ago.

“Ah, there it is.” The older D’artagnan said as he rounded the street corner only to be confronted with a man in a mask pointing a gun at him.

Before D’Artagnan could even blink the shot was fired and his Father slumped onto the ground. The masked assailant turned eyes onto D’artagnan before running around the corner.

“Father!” D’artagnan shouted, dropping to his knees. “I’ll call for help.” The younger sobbed as he pressed hands to his Fathers stomach desperately trying to stem the bleeding.

“It’s too late son.” His Father said, giving his son one last smile before closing his eyes. D’artagnan let out a shout of grief as he felt his Fathers pulse stop. Distantly, he heard sirens in the distance. Someone had obviously called an ambulance. But all D’artagnan could feel in himself was a deep sated rage against whoever had done this.

Without warning, the buildings surrounding D’artagnan started to tremble as if an earthquake had struck. People in the near by streets screamed as loose bricks tumbled from the buildings. And in the middle of it, D’artagnan sobbed over his Fathers dead body.

What seemed a lifetime later, but was probably only 15 minutes, D’artagnan felt a hand on his shoulder. The shaking had stopped but the bins and lose items in the alley were shaking as if sharing the young mans grief. “It’s alright son, you’re going to be alright.” The voice behind the hand said.

....

“Don’t do it.” Athos didn’t even bother looking up from where he was bent over his computer in their small office. 

“Do what?” Aramis asked innocently as he slung his bag onto his own desk. Collapsing into the chair, he circled it around to face Athos.

“You know what.” Athos replied, referring to the thought that Aramis had been considering on his short drive to Musketeer headquarters (affectionately called the Garrison to it’s members). “Treville won’t be pleased if you mess around in his office again.”

“I was only going to take a quick peak to see if there was anything interesting coming in. I’m bored.” Aramis moaned dramatically. Athos only sighed as he turned back to his paper. This was why he came in early. When Aramis was around very little paperwork got done. “Where’s Porthos?”

“Getting coffee.” Porthos replied, appearing as if by magic in the doorway holding a tray of 3 coffees.

“You are my hero.” Aramis grinned, grabbing his cup and passing the other over to Athos. “So what do you Treville has planned for us today.”

Athos was about to reply nothing when he heard the shouts of someone in deep pain. Jumping to his feet, he grabbed his coat knowing Aramis and Porthos would follow without question.

The heartbreaking voice in his head was loud enough to give Athos a headache and he stumbled slightly as he exited the office. Aramis grabbed his arm, holding him in place as he got his bearings. “2 blocks over. I don’t know what happened but it doens’t sound good.” Athos groaned, leaning his head onto the wall as he tried to block the screaming pained fill voice.

“I’ve got you Athos, it’s fine.” Aramis said, keeping a firm grip on Athos’ arm as Porthos headed in the direction Athos had said.

“What’s going on?” Athos distantly heard Treville’s voice. Aramis must have replied as when Athos looked up the Captain was no where to be seen.

“Athos, I’m going to take you inside now. Just concentrate on my thoughts.” Athos nodded, grabbing onto Aramis’ thoughts like a lifeline. He had no idea if the people who’s minds he read could feel him inside them but right now it didn’t matter. All that mattered was concentrating on Aramis’ calming thoughts.

The other man started to sing a Spanish lullaby as he walked Athos into the office. Athos seemed to be relaxing now as he had grown more pliant, letting Aramis guide him down the hall. Aramis kept his thoughts quiet as he deposited his friend onto the old couch sitting in the corner, knowing Treville and Porthos would have it under control. And if they didn’t then Athos would no soon enough. The older man was directly tuned into his brothers thoughts after all.

“Don’t stop.” Athos mumbled, a hand over his head and Aramis belatedly realised he’d stopped singing and thinking of the Spanish lullaby. 

....

“Careful Captain.” Porthos warned as he watched the Captain walk over the clearly distraught young man in the middle of the alley. An ambulance had just arrived so Porthos moved over to the paramedics to get them to move away from the alley.

The shaking might have stopped from where he was standing but the alley was still shaking as madly as if it was being continuously hit by an earthquake. All of a sudden the shaking stopped and Treville helped the young man lift to his feet. Porthos grimaced slightly when he saw the dead body the boy had clearly been crying over.

All okay now. Porthos thought to Athos, knowing he would pass the message onto Aramis. He also sent what he hoped was a wave of calming reassurance to Athos but he had no idea if it would help or not. 

“My Father...he’s dead.” The young man whispered as the paramedics wrapped a blanket over his shoulders and escorted him into the ambulance.

“He ok.” Porthos asked, glancing over at the kid as he stumbled forward. Treville shrugged in reply. “He’s powered.”

“It seems so. His names D’artagnan, if Athos is feeling up to it I want you three to head over to the hospital and talk to him.” Porthos nodded. Treville was a good man, had helped all 3 of the find a place their powers would do some good. But the power the kid had just demonstrated was terrifying and he obviously had very little control over it. Which made him dangerous.

....

Athos had regained some colour in his cheeks when Porthos and the Captain returned. “What happened?” Aramis asked.

“A man was shot, his son was with him. You 3 are going to head to the hospital to question him.” Treville replied.

“Why us? Isn’t that a job for the red guards?” Aramis asked. The red guards, headed up by Richelieu were the local police department. They hated the musketeers, believing the private company got in the way of them doing their job.

‘He was powered.” Athos said, ignoring the hand Aramis offered him when he went to stand up. Stubborn bastard. Aramis thought, causing Athos to snort back a laugh.

“Then we best get going before the red guards get their first.” Aramis continued, grabbing his own jacket and handing Athos’ his.

....

D’artagnan sat in a hospital chair hands covering his eyes as his mind replayed the events in the alley. His hands were still sticky with his Fathers blood. A nurse had tried to get him to wash it off but when the cloth in her hands started to move of it’s own accord she had made a hasty retreat.

“If you are going to have so little control, you may as well put a sign over your head saying you are powered.” A man appeared in front of D’artagnan flanked by 2 others behind him.

“Who are you?” D’artagnan asked.

“Athos, Aramis and Porthos.” Athos pointed to himself and then his two friends in turn.

“Are you the police?” D’artagnan asked, he hadn’t been questioned yet but he knew it was coming. The bowl in the corner started to move but no one said anything.

“Let’s get your hands cleaned up.” Aramis said, crouching in front of D’artagnan. The 3 men couldn’t have been much older than D’artagnan’s 27 years but they were treating him as if he were a much younger man. Bristling slightly, D’artagnan slapped Aramis’ hands away and made his way to the sink himself.

“I can do it.” Aramis just nodded, a sad look crossing over his face but quickly disappearing.

“You gonna stop the furniture bouncing about while you’re at it?” Porthos asked, leaning against the wall as Athos quietly shut the door.

“What are you talking about?” D’artagnan asked, even as his eyes dropped to the towel that was fluttering in an imaginary breeze.

“You’re moving the objects around you, just like you did in the street. On a grand scale as well, we’re impressed.” D’artagnan only frowned at Aramis’ words.

“It’s not me.” Aramis and Porthos shared a quick look and the frown on Athos’ face deepened.

“You’re saying you’re not doing this?” Porthos said, glancing at the furniture around him.

“No, I’m not powered. I can’t do this.” D’artagnan said, anger building inside him. Who were these men to come and question him not even an hour after his Father had died.

“Calm down.” Aramis settled a hand on the younger mans shoulder. D’artagnan startled and startled again when he realised the room was literally shaking.

“How...I don’t understand.” D’artagnan muttered, dropping back into the chair. 

“Can you tell us what happened in the alley?” Athos prompted as D’artagnan stared at his hands once more.

“There was a man in a mask. He...he shot my Father.” Emotions clogged D’artagnan’s threat as tears once more spilled out freely. He felt a hand rubbing his back gently and persuade it was Aramis.

“What about after?” Athos continued, ignoring the glare Porthos sent his way. They had to push D’artagnan to remember what happened, what set off the shaking. Before the red guards turned up and got in the way. Again.

“I don’t know... the building’s started shaking...maybe...I don’t understand.” D’artagnan mumbled, refusing to believe what the facts so clearly said.

Athos, Aramis and Porthos shared a look before coming to silent agreement. D’artagnan wasn’t really paying attention as Aramis coaxed him out of the room and down the corridor. Before he knew it he was in a car he didn’t know being driven who knew where. He really should have been more afraid at least a little cautious. But honestly, after everything that had happened, after his Father’s death, D’artagnan couldn’t bring himself to care where he was being taken.

....

“This is garrison.” Aramis gestured to the small office that the 3 men shared. It was a bit cramped with 4 desks (one of which was covered in paper) and a small sofa. It was there that D’artagnan was placed while Aramis went about making coffee.

“I can’t be powered.” D’artagnan said. “I’m too old, I thought you had to be a kid when you got your powers.”

“A common misconception.” Aramis said, placing the coffee in D’artagnan’s hands as Porthos grunted back a laugh.

“Our powers seem to appear when something traumatic happens.” Porthos said, turning serious as he looked at D’artagnan.

Our... you’re all powered as well?” D’artagnan asked, curiosity spiking. He had never met anyone who was powered before, growing up on an isolated farm it hadn’t exactly been a thoroughfare for ordinary people let alone powered ones.

“Yes.” Aramis replied. “Like you.”

“I...that’s amazing.” D’artagnan breathed, curiosity filling him. What exactly could he do. Well, he knew he could make a room shake but how, why. What were the limitations. 

“That’s not usually the reaction people give.” Porthos laughed.

A serious thought flew into D’artagnan’s mind then. If he had powers maybe he could use them to find the man who had shot his Father. To get vengeance. “Vengeance won’t solve anything.” Athos’ hard voice filled the room, making D’artagnan start. “Before you ask, I can read your mind and I am telling you it won’t help. You cannot take the law into your own hands.”

D’artagnan bristled, jumping to his feet to face Athos. How dare the man tell him what do. “I will get justice.”

“Justice yes, but if you storm off with ridiculous ideas of vengeance you’ll only get yourself killed. And make the rest of the world hate powered people even more than they already do.” D’artagnan felt anger prickle at Athos’ words, causing the room to start shaking. “You can’t even control your powers, how are you going to get vengeance.” Athos continued.

“My Father is dead, I will get vengeance. Or I will die trying.” D’artagnan said. He knew he sounded over dramatic, maybe even like a spoilt child but he had to. He had to make the man who killed his Father pay.

“Then allow us to offer our services.” Aramis added.

Athos looked like he was going to argue but Porthos butted in before he could: “It’s not like we’re busy or anything. We might as well try and help.”

“Plus it’ll annoy the red guards.” Athos only sighed in frustration at Aramis; words but made no voice to object.

That was how D’artagnan found himself, 3 hours later, in front of a computer screen eyes going camera blind as he tried to find a clear view of the man who had killed his Father. “No one said thi was easy.” Porthos said from the chair next to him.

Athos had disappeared over an hour ago and had not returned, not that D’artagnan wasn’t secretly pleased. The older man’s earlier words had sound D’artagnan’s pride and he wasn’t quite over being angry with him about that yet.

“You going to help.” Porthos threw a rolled up bit of paper at Aramis’ head, missing by a few inches as Aramis managed to duck just before the paper missile hit him.

“I am”. Aramis replied, motioning to the preliminary report from the crime scene. How Aramis had gotten it, Porthos didn’t know, but he suspected it had something to with Aramis’ on again off again relationship with Adele Bessette (Richelieu private secretary).

D’artagnan couldn’t help but smile as he watched the two friends. It was nice, to watch comradeship like this. He had grown used to it in his time in the army and ever since returning to Gascony he had felt as if something had been lacking in his life.

“Speaking of doing nothing,”. Aramis turned his chair to the office door as Athos walked in, “Where have you been.”

“Working, unlike you.” Aramis laughed at Athos’ words. “There’s been a spate of armed robberies over the last few months. all with guns and all getting progressively more violent. 3 deaths recorded so far, including your Father.” Athos turned his gaze to D’artagnan who felt anger spike once more and the pen that had been sitting next to him to fly across the room.

Athos didn’t even blink as he turned to look at Aramis, “Can you call Adele, see if you can get ballistics on the gun used. If I’m right then it will match the gun used to shoot D’artagnan’s Father.”

Aramis nodded, grabbing his phone and exiting the office. “What are the red guards doing about it?” Porthos asked.

“Apparently nothing. At least not was far as anyone can see. They make some enquiries but don’t go any further.” Athos frowned. “Did they come and talk to you, the police I mean?”

“No. The first people to ask me what happened was you three.” D’artagnan replied.

“Why, do you think their covering something up?” Porthos asked.

“I don’t know.” Athos sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “The Captain’s not going to like this. We did say we would try to stay out of their way.”

Porthos laughed at this. “The Captain likes to beat Richelieu more than we do. If we solve this and prove the red guards were covering something up, well it’s win win for us.”

Athos nodded his head silently as Porthos turned back to the surveillance cameras.

Aramis returned 30 minutes later, a grin plastered on his face. “Adele is as helpful as she is beautiful. The guns match and the red guards have a partial fingerprint. Adele ran it through the database but there wasn’t a match.”

“You’ll have to get her something special for that.” Athos replied, unhappy that they hadn’t been able to ID the man yet but glad all the same.

“I’m taking her for drinks and a movie Saturday night as repayment. And perhaps something a bit more special.” Aramis winked at them all before collapsing into his chair and putting his feet on his desk.

“Got it.” Porthos grinned as he paused the video on his screen. “Bastard walked 3 blocks with that mask on before taking it off but finally got a picture.”

“It’s not very clear.” D’artagnan noted, disappointment clear in his voice.

“No, but I know who that is. Gaudet.” Porthos grinned. “A red guard.”

.....

“You’re sure about this?” Treville asked as the Athos stood in front of his desk.

“Positive.” Athos replied.

“Richelieu won’t like this.” Treville sighed. “They’ll resist.”

“We won’t arrest him while he’s working. He’ll be at the usual bar tonight, he usually is.” treville nodded, resigned to the fact he was going to have to deal with Richelieu complaints but also not willing to allow a guilty man to go free.

“I’ll get the authority for you to arrest him now.” Athos turned to leave but Treville continued to speak first. “What about D’artagnan?”

Athos considered this for a moment. D’artagnan was a head strong, angry youth who should have annoyed Athos (and to be fair he did quite a lot). But he was also intrigued. By all rights D’artagnan should have been too consumed in grief to even think about vengeance. But it was his first thought. And while the young man might have originally thought about going down a more dangerous path, hunting down and killing Gaudet, he appeared to agree with them all that the right thing to do was arrest Gaudet and let justice be served that way. That and D’artagnan fitted in well with them, somehow. Athos, Aramis and Porthos had long been known as the inseparables ever since first meeting in the army. No one had ever been able to breach the close knitted friendship of the 3 men. But D’artagnan seemed to have slotted in perfectly. As if their trio had always been missing a forth.

“We’ll bring him along.” Treville nodded.

“Keep an eye on him.” Treville said as Athos left the room to brief the others.

....

“I thought you guys weren’t the police?” D’artagnan asked from his seat in the back of Porthos’ car.

“We’re not.” The bigger man grinned. “But Louis, the man that gave Treville the funds to found the musketeers is also the commissioner of the police force so he lets us have a bit of leeway.”

“Much to the displeasure of the red guards.” Aramis added, hands loading a pistol without even looking.

“Expecting trouble.” D’artagnan raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t exactly sure why he was here but wasn’t going to argue when he wanted to help bring the man who had murdered his father to justice.

“Always with the red guards.” Aramis quirked a smile as he slipped the pistol into his pocket.

“He’s in there.” Athos spoke for the first time.

“So, how are we going to do this.” Aramis started but D’artagnan’s mind had gone blank. The minute Athos had confirmed Gaudet was in their he saw red and stormed out of the car.

He was distantly aware of Athos, Porthos and Aramis following him; all 3 cursing the younger man as D’artagnan stormed into the bar. “Gaudet!” 

“Who the hell are you?” The man in question turned to frown at him. A few of the bottles rattled off the shelves in D’artagnan’s temper.

“You murdered Alexander D’artagnan in cold blood.”

“Never heard of him.” Gaudet smirked.

“Gaudet, you are under arrest for this murder, will you come quietly.” Athos’ voice spoke from behind D’artagnan. “Calm yourself, we need him alive.” Athos whispered so low that only D’artagnan could hear it as he drew up level with the younger men.

There was a minutes silence before the bar tumbled into chaos.

D’artagnan didn’t pay attention though as the red guards rushed him and the 3 musketeers as all his attention was on Gaudet. Shouting, D’artagnan launched himself on the other man. Heart in a few good punches to Gaudet before the larger man started to overpower him.

Shouting in frustration, D’artagnan felt a surge of power run through him as bottle flew off the shelf behind him and hit Gaudet in the back. “You’re a freak like them then.” The red guard laughed as D’artagnan pushed him off him.

“D’artagnan, we need him alive.” Athos’ voice shouted from behind D’artagnan. It would have been so easy. D’artagnan could feel the power flooding his veins, all he had to thin to was concentrate and he could have smashed a bottle into Gaudet knock, killing him instantly. But no. D’artagnan wasn’t a murderer. If he did that then he would be no better than the scum who had hurt his Father.

Turning around, D’artagnan saw that the fighting had practically stopped. Porthos was holding two men by the scruff of their necks, hauling them outside with unbelievable strength. While Aramis and Athos were also throwing a red guard each out of the pub. The bartenders had all disappeared by now.

“D’artagnan watch out.” Porthos yelled. Without thinking, D’artagnan spun round and summoned one of the glasses on the bar to fling itself against Gaudet’s head. The man dropped unconscious to floor, gun clatter beside him as he dropped it before he had even had a chance to shoot.

Porthos clapped a hand on D’artagnan’s shoulder as Aramis leaned over Gaudet to check for a pulse. “He;s alive.”

As Gaudet was loaded into the back of a police car, he felt himself deflate a bit. Gaudet had been arrested for the murder of his Father. He should be feeling happy but instead all he felt was an overwhelming sense of loss. 

....

Somehow D’artagnan found himself at a bar sitting at the table with Aramis and Porthos. Athos was a few tables over had way through a bottle of wine. “Is he ok?” D’artagnan asked.

“Woman trouble.” Aramis replied as if that explained everything. “So, what are you going to do now?” 

D’artagnan shrugged, he honestly had no idea. His Father was dead, the last member of his family. He had no one left. “I don’t know.”

“Well, you’re always welcome in the musketeers.” Aramis replied causing D’artagnan to look between the two men in disbelief.

“Really?” 

“We’re always looking for new talent?’ Aramis replied.

“And Treville looked you up while we were busy arresting Gaudet. You just got out of military service a few months ago.” D’artagnan nodded to Porthos’ words. “All 3 of us have done military service.”

“And Treville’s already signed our paperwork. You can be our apprentice musketeer.” Aramis added, grin growing as D’artagnan’s disbelief grew. “Only if you want to of course.” The older man’s voice grew more serious when he said this.

“Yes, please...but I have no where to stay.” D’artagnan growled. He and his Father had been staying at a small hotel since arriving in Paris but D’artagnan didn’t think it would be ok for a long term fix.

“I know a lovely young lady who it just so happens is looking for a border. At least until we can find you somewhere more permanent.” Aramis replied.

“Then please. Yes please. Thank you.” D’artagnan honestly didn’t know what to say. It was as if his life had turned around so quickly it was was hard to imagine.

“Then, if you don’t mind gentlemen I will see you tomorrow.” Aramis stood from the table giving them both a nod.

“Say hi to Adele for us.” Porthos grinned as he took out a pack of cards and turned to D’artagnan. 

....

Richelieu stood outside Gaudet’s cell a frown crossing his face. “I was assured this would go to plan. That the freak would be killed.”

“Gaudet obviously didn’t realise which one it was.” Milady replied. 

“They cannot trace this back to me.”

“No one will. No one even knows the victims of these murders were powered.” Milady assured Richelieu.

“Make sure that is the case.” 

“And Gaudet.” Richelieu Seemed to consider this for a moment.

“He hung himself in his cell. What a tragedy.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Aramis discovers his powers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that any of the speech in this chapter is in Spanish.

13 year old Aramis sat with his Abuela in the hospital waiting room. “It will be fine.” His Abuela was said, stroking Aramis’ messy hair. Aramis didn’t look up, just continued to look at the rosary in his hands. They were his Abuela’s and she had given them to him, hoping to offer her Granson some form of comfort as they waited for news on his mama.

Rosalie D’Herblay had moved to southern France before Aramis had been born, leaving her native Spain for the Frenchman she had fallen in love with. Aramis remembered his Father as being a kind hearted man, easy to laugh. He had brought a rose home to his mama every day since as far back as Aramis could remember. The day he had died had been the hardest day of the then 8 year old Aramis’ life.

He and his mama had sat in the hospital then, not unlike he and his Abuela were doing now. His mama holding his hand as she cried softly. Aramis thought the moment the Doctor came out and told them that his Papa had died, the result of an underlying heart condition, was the worst thing in his life. His mama had fell to her knees and sobbed openly and Aramis hadn’t known what to do. The only thing he could think to do was hug his mama as tightly as possible.

They had moved back to Spain after the funeral, moving into his mama’s family home to live with his Abuela. She was a kind woman, doting on her only grandson as often as she could. Her home was a beautiful one in the middle of the Spanish countryside. Maybe it was a bit quiet for an adventurous 8 year old but Armais was happy.

They moved in the middle of winter and when summer came along, roses grew in his Abuela’s garden. The first time Aramis picked one from and took it his mama was the first time she had smiled since his papa had passed.

“She will go with God.” Abuela placed her hands over Aramis’ smaller ones, stroking the rosary beads as Aramis felt further tears flow down.

“I don’t want her to go.” Aramis whispered. His Abuela said nothing but pulled him into a tight hug.

When the Doctor led them to the room Rosalie was lying in, Aramis felt a sudden urge to run. His mama was lying in the hospital bed white as a sheet. The Doctor and his Abuela were talking in low voices. Aramis heard it all as if it was in a dream as he took hold of his mama’s cold arm. Silently he prayed to God for her to wake up.

She had been hit by a car while walking to work that morning. The Doctors had tried to operate but they had known upon seeing her injuries that it was beyond hope. The injuries where to severe.

“Mama, please don’t leave me.” Aramis whispered, switching back to his papa’s language. The Doctor and his Abuela had disappeared from the room but Aramis didn’t care.

He had thought losing his Papa had hurt but this was 10 times worse. Tears fell down the young boys cheeks and he roughly wiped them away. “Please mama.” 

A burning sensation suddenly started to run down Aramis’ arms. With a small cry, Aramis felt himself slump forward as his mama’s hand moved under his. “Mama.” Aramis thought his words were slurred as his eyelids were drifting closed.

“Aramis...”. His mama’s words faded into nothingness as blackness engulfed Aramis.

....

Aramis woke slowly, blinking bleary eyes and confused. “Aramis, you’re awake.” 

“Mama?” Aramis mumbled, turning bleary eyes onto his Abuela. The older woman was a beautiful lady. Her dark brown hair holding a few grey streaks. Usually she would be made up well, with make up and a happy smile on her face. Now she looked tired and older than she had ever looked to Aramis.

“Aramis, you’re ok.” Tears were flowing down his Abuela’s cheeks and all Aramis wanted to do was wipe them away but he lacked the strength to move. “When we saw you unconscious I feared the worst. But you’re ok.” Aramis smiled at his Abuela as she gently scooped him into a hug. “The Doctor’s said it was the shock of it all. That you were just tired. You;be been unconscious for days.”

“Mama...”. Aramis choked, not believing what his Abuela had said. But if it was true, then she would be ...

“Alive, God has answered our prayers. She is alive.” The tears running down her cheeks were happy ones now. “The Doctors don’t know how but all her injuries have healed. She’s going to be fine.”

Aramis felt a warm happiness spread through him as his eyes drifted close once more.

....

When he woke next his mama was sitting at the bed next to him. She was wrapped in a blanket and still looked pale but there was a happy glint in he eyes which brightened even further when she saw her son wake. “Mama.” Aramis lifted his arms up and was swept into a hug by his mama, smelling the scent of her perfume as he silently cried into her shoulder.

“You saved me Aramis. Thank you.” Rosalie whispered into Aramis’ soft curls as she rubbed her hand up and down his back.

“Abuela said it was God.” Aramis said, not moving from where his face was buried in his mama’s neck.

“It was. God acted though you. He has given you a gift and you have used it to save me.” His mama was crying now. Aramis didn’t really understand what his mama was saying but it didn’t really matter. His mama was alive and she was ok, that was all Aramis really cared about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How Porthos and Athos discovers theirs will follow soon. Hope you all enjoy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Porthos got his powers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note there is description of violence of children in this chapter

Porthos had lived his entire childhood in foster care, except for the first few years where it had just been him and his Mother. Of what he could remember of her, she had been a kind hearted woman who had not deserved the hand she had been dealt.

Growing up in poverty, Porthos was well accustomed to having to fight others for food at the table, a skill which was greatly adapted when he entered foster care. Over the years, Porthos had numerous placements in different homes. He was always moved around, mainly for fighting or back talking or simply because the foster family wanted someone younger. It didn’t really matter and Porthos grew used to it. 

Flea and Charon were as close to family as Porthos had. Porthos had met Charon first, going into the same foster home as the older boy when he was 10 years old. They’d hit it off almost instantly. They’d both grown up around poverty and they were both surviving it.

Porthos met Flea a year later when he and Charon had been moved into a new foster home; much to the surprise of both of them that they had been kept together. Porthos fell for her the instant he saw her. Even then at 10 years old, she’d been feisty and strong. She knew what she wanted from life and she wasn’t afraid to try and get it wither. But she was also kind hearted, a trait so rarely seen in foster care.

While Porthos was strong and intimidating to most of the other people in foster care (other than Charon and Flea of course) he was also known for having a heart of gold. Whenever he was placed in homes where there were small children he was the one they went to for stories or games or just because they were sad. Porthos remembered all to well being that scared little boy and he vowed that he would do everything he could to help the younger kids.

Porthos, Charon and Flea were separated when Porthos was 13. It was Charon’s idea to steal the car. The then 15 year old had already starting stealing, something which he’d been encouraging Flea and Porthos to do. Flea had taken to it as if she were a natural. Porthos on the other hand was slightly more wary of it.

When Charon said they should steal the car, go on a joy ride, Porthos knew they shouldn’t have. But he went along with anyway. They both did. Like they always did when Charon suggested something.

His social worker hadn’t even bothered shouting at him, the old woman (Nancy) just looked disappointed. She’d given Porthos a look that just said it all. He was a hopeless cause as far the system was concerned.

Charon was arrested, sentenced o a year in Juvie. Flea and Porthos were sent to different homes. Porthos hadn’t seen them since. He wondered sometimes what had happened to him.

....

The next home he was sent to, his final one really, was the worst of all them. The couple who ran the home could be anywhere between indifferent and violent. If any of the children crossed them they were liable to backhand them across the face. They had been the ones to cause the scar across Porthos’ face. Madame Roslyn growing a glass cup at him which had shattered across his face before he had had chance to duck. That had happened in the first month of being there.

Porthos had told his social worked about it but she hadn’t believed him. Thought he was just trying to cause trouble or that he was passing out for the loss of his family (Flea and Charon). So Porthos was stuck there.

.....

A little girl came to the home a week after Porthos’ 14th birthday. Her name was Ashleigh, she was barely 6 years old and had lost her parents only a month before. The first night when she wouldn’t stop crying for his parents Porthos had been the only one to be able to calm her down, telling her made up stories of far away places.

Ashleigh soon became a fast friend of Porthos’ the little girl following the older boy around whenever she could. Porthos didn’t mind, it was good to see the girl smiling or laughing. He’d taken to stealing sweets from the corner shops and giving them to her (having no money of his own to buy them). She was like the baby sister he had never had.

Madame Roslyn and her husband (Monsieur Hector) went out one night drinking. Ashleigh had been at the home for 3 months then and Porthos thought she was settling in nicely. The couple had forgotten to sort tea for the 6 children in their care (a common occurrence whenever they went out which was often) so Porthos has managed to scrap together enough money to order takeout.

While the younger children ate their pizza, Porthos started to tell them stories. They all listened aptly, laughing and gasping in shock whenever the story demanded. It was probably the happiest Porthos had been since being separated from Charon and Flea.

“What is going on here?” Madame Roslyn yelled as the front door crashed open. Porthos motioned for the children to scatter upstairs, all of them knowing by now not to get in the way of the adults tempers.

“Where did you get that money? Did you steal from us you filthy little street urchin?” Roslyn screamed in Porthos’ face. Porthos felt his anger burst forward but refused to move. He was stood at the bottom of the stairs, blocking her access to the other children.

She backhanded him across the face, hard enough to leave a bruise. “Or did you get your little friend to do it?” Roslyn screeched as Hector grabbed Ashleigh’s hand pulling her down the stairs.

“NO, leave her alone. It was my fault.” Porthos yelled, panic filling him. He hadn’t even realised Ashleigh hadn’t gone upstairs with the others.

Hector backhanded Ashleigh who fell to the floor screaming in a way only a 6 year old could. Porthos so red then, he grabbed Hector by the jacket and pulled him away from the little girl. It didn’t even register that he had pulled Hector off his feet to do so. Roslyn was screaming at him to stop but the rage in Porthos had gone to far. He’d spent months being hit or watching this man abuse children. Children under his care. The assault on Ashleigh was the last straw.

Dimly Porthos heard the sounds of sirens in the distant and he wondered who had called them but he didn’t stop his assault on Hector. He just kept hitting the man as hard as he could. He didn’t register the fact that the blows were far more powerful than any boy his age (or even older) should have been able to do. He certainly didn’t give it thought that he was holding down a man who was nearly 5 times his own weight.

It took 5 police men to drag him off Hector. He was arrested on the spot.

....

A few days later he found out that one of the children had called the police. Hector and Roslyn were arrested for child abuse and all of the children were placed into different homes. Hector had a broken nose and jaw. The judge said Porthos was lucky he didn’t kill the man.

No one mentioned the Porthos’ sudden surge of strength. No one mentioned that when they got Porthos into the police cell he had been so angry he had punched the wall so hard he had left a fist sized dent in it.

He was sentenced to 2 years in Juvie. It should have been more. Porthos could tell from the judges face that he wanted to give him more. But Porthos had been protecting the children so he had been lenient.

As Porthos sat in the police van, taking him away after his sentencing he heard his Mothers voice in his. His Mother who had taught him to be kind, brave, strong. She had instilled a sense of kindness in him that Porthos had held onto all his years. And he vowed then that he would always try to protect the weak and the innocent from people like Hector and Roslyn. Even if no one had ever protected him that way.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Athos got his powers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note their is mention of depression and suicidal thoughts in this.

Athos had never been so happy in his entire life. He had grown up in a very restricting posh lifestyle. His parents had sent him to boarding school, College, University. They had such high hopes for him. They were rich, filthy rich if Athos was honest with himself. He had never lacked for anything. Anything he wanted his parents would buy it.

But they were snobs, as so many rich people could be. They had high standards of their son and they demanded that he follow them. If he was honest, Athos had never been happy in his childhood. While he may have never lacked for toys or presents he had always been missing the most crucial thing. Love and attention.

Thomas, his younger brother, was the apple of his parents eye. While it was decided before Athos was even born (him being the oldest) that he would inherit his Father’s business, it was Thomas his Father and Mother loved most. Thomas got all the attention. If Thomas asked his Mother to read to him she would, she would never have done such things for Athos. Being 7 years younger than Athos he was the baby of the family. Everyone loved Thomas. No one cared about Athos.

And Athos should have by all rights hated Thomas for it. Most people would have. But he couldn’t. He loved Thomas as much as anyone. While Athos was a quiet and reserved boy, THomas was the opposite. He always wanted to play, always talking about something or other. There was never any quiet around the boy. But the best thing about him, for Athos at least, was that his little brother loved him completely and utterly.

Thomas always followed Athos around whenever he could. Always asked Athos to read his books to him or play a game with him. Athos did fencing at school and when Thomas was old enough Athos taught him. Of all the people in his life Thomas was the best thing.

At least, he was until he met Anne. His parents, expecting nothing more than the best, had sent Athos to Business school in Oxford England. He had been studying their 3 years when he met her. She was the most beautiful person Athos had ever seen. And when she smiled it was as if a light had turned on in the world. 

There’s was a whirlwind romance full of passion and pleasure and above all, love. And Athos had never been in love so much as he was now. Every day with Anne was like the beginning of a new life.

....

“Why do they hate me so much.” Athos lamented as he and Anne lay in bed together. They had been together only a year but Athos felt as if it was a lifetime.

“Who?” Anne asked, trailing her fingers across Athos’ bare chest.

“My parents. They are arranging a marriage between myself and Catherine. But I do not love her. I love you.” Catherine was the daughter of a family friend who had fallen on hard times. 

“We’re not in the 1600’s now, you can marry whoever you want.” Anne laughed as Athos brought into a kiss. “Who do you want to marry?”

“You.” Athos said, without hesitation as he kissed Anne once more.

“Then let’s get married.” Anne laughed and Athos felt his heart skip a beat. Nothing had ever felt so right. “No one can make you marry anyone else if you’re already married.”

2 days later they were wed. It was a simple ceremony, held in one of the small churches in Oxford. Anne had a simple white dress with bluebells scattered in her hair and holding a bouquet of them. Athos had never felt so happy in his whole life.

....

When he finally took Anne back to meet his parents a month after the wedding they were furious. His Father threatened to disown him on the spot if he didn’t divorce her and his Mother just wept and wept saying how disappointed she was in him and asking where she had gone wrong.

But those reactions didn’t bother him. Thomas’ did.

His younger brother wouldn’t even look Athos in the eye. Wouldn’t speak to him. He said he felt betrayed, how could Athos do this to their parents.

Athos and Anne left that night and did not return home for 2 more years.

It was his Father’s funeral that had brought them back. Athos was honestly surprised he had even been invited but then it was his Father and he knew his Mother would want to avoid the scandal of him not turning up.

Athos could never say that he loved the man. He had never spent enough time with him to even say he knew him. But he was still his Father at the end of the day so he to go.

The funeral was nice if you could a funeral nice. The priest said nice things, his Mother cried and Thomas spoke about their Father in the only way Thomas could have. Because Thomas was the only thing his Father had ever really cared about.

After the wake his Mother invited him and Anne to stay so they had. Athos slept in his own bedroom and he felt as if a weight had been lifted. He’d spent the afternoon of his Father’s wake with Thomas. He and his younger brother had talked in the first time in 2 years and it honestly felt to Athos as if he might be able to repair the damaged relationship with the only other person in the world other than Anne that he loved.

How wrong was he.

....

“I had no choice. Athos, I had no choice.” Anne screamed to him, clawing at his shirt and leaving blood stains in their wake. Thomas’ blood. Athos could say nothing. His Mother was screaming over her sons’ corpse. Athos could imagine what she was saying. Why couldn’t it have been him, it should have been him.

“Athos, please.” Anne begged as she was dragged away by the police. Athos could say nothing.

All he could see was the image of the woman he loved holding the dagger that was now in his little brothers chest. His dead little brother.

....

The trial was a blur to Athos. He couldn’t remember anything of it. The only thing he remembered was when Anne had gotten to the stand and said that Thomas had tried to blackmail her. She said that he had found out about her past as a thief, that he would tell Athos if she did not have sex with him. It was self defence. She hadn’t meant to kill him. Athos’ Mother screamed in the docks at this, words unintelligible as the bailiffs had to escort her outside.

Anne was sentenced to 5 years. Just 5 years. Murder being downgraded to Manslaughter. The whole world believing that Thomas, sweet innocent lovely Thomas could be so cold as to try and rape his brothers wife.

“This is your fault.” His Mother had screamed at him as Anne was led away. “Thomas is dead because of you. You should be the one who died.” Athos could say nothing. Not when he believed every word she screamed.

....

The voices came that night. Athos was leaning against the bed, bottle of whiskey in hand as he sobbed for the loss of his brother and the love of his life. When they came he thought he was hearing things.

2 days later when he heard the receptionist wonder why he was so sad as he passed he thought he was delusional. 

Athos spent 2 weeks in the hotel, leaving only for more whiskey. Every time he went outside he heard the maddening thoughts of those around him. So he drank to drown them out.

But that just brought back his own self loathing thoughts. How he should be dead, not Thomas. So he drank more.

When he finally went home, he couldn’t bare it. He was surrounded by the life he and Anne had made together. Pictures of them smiling, her scent all around him. He left Oxford that night and bought a one way ticket to Paris.

He thought about suicide. He thought about ending it all but Thomas’ face always brought Athos out of those thoughts. His little brother wouldn’t want him to waste his life. Thomas had always seen Athos as if he was a hero. Oh, how wrong he was.

So Athos did the next best thing, in his head at least, he joined the army. He’d probably get himself killed, not that he would care. His mother might have but Athos hadn’t seen or spoken to her since the trial. At the very least he could die doing some good. For Thomas.

It took meeting Aramis and Porthos for Athos to finally find some good in the world. 2 years of self pity. 2 years of hating himself more and more each day. And all it took was a few months in the company of Aramis and Porthos for Athos to find something he didn’t even know he needed. Brotherhood. Family.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter got away from me a bit and went in a completely different direction from what I wanted, so I hope you enjoy.  
> Warning in advance chapter contains mentions of PTSD and alcohol dependency

“What are you doing?” Athos frowned as he walked into the office to find D’artagnan flinging pencils into the ceiling.

“Training.” Porthos replied with a grin as he tossed a pencil into the air. Instead of hitting the ground, the pencil flung itself into the ceiling, completing the fleur dis leis D’artagnan had been creating.

“Can’t you just read our minds instead of asking?” D’artagnan asked as he turned to face Athos.

Athos just sighed as he placed his bag onto his empty desk. It had been a long night last night, the voices particularly loud and as a result he had drank far more whiskey than he should have done when he had work in the morning. He’d passed out on his couch around 1 in the morning and he’d woken with a stiff neck and a banging headache tis morning. “It’s rude to go into people’s head without permission.” Athos replied to D’artagnan’s question, glancing over at Porthos who had a smirk playing on his lips.

Glancing over to the forth currently empty desk, Athos felt himself frown. “Where is Aramis?”

“Probably with Adele.” Porthos replied, earning a snort of laughter from D’artagnan. “Better ring him before the Captain gets here.”

……………….

Aramis had woken at 2 that morning in a cold sweat, images of blood and cold desert surrounding him. Distant screams filled his ears as Aramis bolted upright in his bed, fighting the covers that had confined him in place. Pulling out the pistol that lived in his bedside cabinet, Aramis had done a swift, quiet search of his apartment.

Nothing. Of course there was nothing. It was just a dream. No, Aramis cursed himself. Not a dream, a memory. An all too real memory. A bang from outside made Aramis jump what felt like 2 feet in the air. His hand gripped the pistol in his hand for dear life as he did another sweep of the apartment. Nothing had changed. All the windows ere bolted shut, the door was locked. It was all ok. 

Another bang from outside had the apartment fading away to be replaced by a desert, dead bodies everywhere. His friends, his comrades. The people they had come to save. All dead. Except the 2 children, still alive. Aramis rushed over to help them only to trip over the coffee table and tumble to the ground. As quickly as it had disappeared his apartment came into view.

Light was flashing outside the living room window and Aramis cautiously moved to look outside. The pistol still held in a tight grip, Aramis pulled the curtain slightly back to see out into the now bright night. Another bang and a blinding flash of light had Aramis tumbling back, breathing coming out in sharp gasps. Fireworks, his brain unhelpful supplied. Someone was setting off fireworks.

He could call Porthos or Athos. Hell he could call Treville maybe even D’artagnan. By all rights he should. How many times had Athos and Porthos told him that if he never needed them all he had to do was ring. That was if Athos hadn’t heard him by now. Shit, Aramis desperately tried to hid his thoughts of the Savoy operation but another firework went off causing Aramis’ vision to swim between the inside of his apartment and that cold desert.

Athos had once said he could only read people’s minds if he was within a few miles of them and that even then it could be hard to hear them because there were that many voices in the city that it felt like he was hearing a herd of elephants, all shouting for attention except you couldn’t make any of it out because it was too loud. Athos had to truly concentrate to hear any one thought. Or the individual’s mind had to be shouting to be heard over the other racket. Like D’artagnan’s had been the day his Father had died. Or like Aramis’ had to be with the memories of Savoy hitting him over and over again.

He should call them, before Athos turned up. Except Aramis didn’t want to bother his friends. He deserved this pain, he deserved to see his dead friends. The dead bodies of the victims they had tried to help. Because he had failed. Because with all the power he had to heal someone who was injured, he couldn’t bring back the dead.

Aramis truly expected Athos and Porthos to barge through the door at any moment as he hunkered down in the corner between two cabinets in his small kitchen. Pistol clutched in his hand, Aramis could see all angles of the apartment. At any moment he expected to see his friends knocking on the door, wanting to know what was going on. But they didn’t come and Aramis didn’t know whether to be grateful or sad that they hadn’t.

He must have dozed off as the next thing Aramis knew was his phone ringing from his bedroom. It took more effort than Aramis cared to admit to get off the floor and go to his bedroom. His coffee table was still overturned and Aramis was silently grateful he’d cleared away the plate and cup he’d put there before going to bed.

“Where the hell are you?” Porthos’ concerned voice immediately came through the speaker. “We’ve rung you 5 times.” Aramis quickly check his phone and found indeed 4 missed calls from Athos, Porthos and one from D’artagnan.

“Sorry, slept in.” Aramis cringed at the croaky quality in his voice.

“Aramis…” Porthos’ started before Aramis cut him off.

“I’m fine, just running late. I’ll be in within the hour.” Before Porthos could say anything else, Aramis hung up the phone and sat heavily on his bed. His hand holding the phone was shaking but his second hand was firm as he held the pistol from last night.

………

“Your sure you didn’t hear anything last night?” Porthos asked Athos for what felt like the 100th time after Aramis had hung up on him.

“No, I didn’t hear anything.” Athos replied, guilt creeping up on him. How could he have heard anything if he’d been unconscious from whiskey last night.

“What’s going on? Is Aramis ok?” D’artagnan had only been with the musketeers for 2 months now but he liked to think he had integrated himself well with the other 3 agents. But sometimes, like now, he felt like he was missing something.

“We have no idea.” Porthos replied.

………….

True to his word, Aramis was in the office within the hour of his conversation with Porthos but they could all tell he shouldn’t be there. D’artagnan was just about to ask Aramis if he was alright when Athos cut him off with a sharp look. Aramis didn’t appear to see this as he dumped his bag onto the floor by his desk an pulled out the paperwork he’d been avoiding doing yesterday in favour of looking any of them in the eye.

From what D’artagnan could tell, Aramis was far from ok. His hair was sticking out at odd angles as if Aramis had been running his hands through it resulting in it refusing to flatten down and he had bags under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept all last night.

“Aramis, you ok?” Porthos usually gruff tone was now gentle as he turned concerned eyes to the younger man.

It took a moment for Aramis to answer but when he did, he had a smile plastered on his face that didn’t meet his eyes. “Fine and fit my friend. I simply spent to long with dear Adele last night that I lost track of time.”

“I thought you and Adele broke it off last week?” D’artagnan asked, remembering the eye rolls from Athos and Porthos when Aramis had announced he and Adele were no longer seeing one another.

Aramis seemed caught off guard for a second but quickly replaced it with another grin. “We made it up. Now would anyone else like coffee?” He jumped to his feet and before anyone could answer Aramis had all but bolted out of the room.

“Well, that didn’t go well.” Athos’ sarcasm was clear in his voice but D’artagnan had started to get to know the man well enough now to know when he was hiding how he truly felt.  
Porthos just glared at Athos as if it was all Athos’ fault. “How much did you drink last night?”

Athos just shook his head, looking down at the desk as shame poured through him. He should have heard Aramis’ mind shouting for help. He had before, when the memories dragged Aramis so far down that he couldn’t call them. Or rather wouldn’t. Aramis refused to admit he needed him in those minutes. Athos had heard Aramis’ mind say that he didn’t deserve their help, something which Porthos had been furious about upon Athos telling him. Aramis did not ask for help. But whenever the memories dragged him down, Athos always heard his mind shouting him and he and Porthos always turned up to take care of Aramis. Except last night he hadn’t. Because he had gotten drunk. Because the voices where too loud. Was one of the voices from last night Aramis, calling for help as the memories pulled him down. And Athos had ignored him. He had ley his brother down. Just like Porthos.

“I’m going to find Aramis.” Porthos said, not even looking at Athos as he stormed out.

……….

Porthos found Aramis leaning against the stall in the bathroom, head covered by his hand as he desperately tried to get control of himself. Placing a gentle hand on Aramis’ shoulder, Porthos stood and waiting for the younger man to say something. 

“I’m sorry.” Aramis murmured as he pushed away from the wall and out of Porthos’ reach. “I’m fine.”

“I might not be able to read minds like Athos but I can still tell when you’re lying.” Porthos said gently as he looked at Aramis. The younger man was trembling, one hand in his pocket clenching what Porthos assumed were the rosary beads his friend always kept there. His other hand held a firm grip on the back of the pistol that Aramis had brought from home. Porthos knew because he remembered seeing it every time he was there when the memories pulled Aramis so far he couldn’t see anything expect the desert and the dead bodies. He should have been there.

“I’ll be fine then.” Aramis said, offering a shaky smile. “I’m always fine.”

“You should have called.” Porthos argued, not mentioning the fact that Aramis was never fine, he just refused to admit that he was.

“I didn’t want to worry you.” The unspoken I deserve to suffer was left off but Porthos heard it as clearly as Athos probably could in the other room. Which made Porthos’ anger towards the older man rear its’ head once more.

“We should have come. I’m sorry.” Porthos said, glad that when he put his hand on Aramis’ shoulder the younger man didn’t push it off.

“You shouldn’t have to.” Aramis said, anger in his voice now.

………….  
“What just happened?” D’artagnan asked as Athos continued to stare at his desk.

Sighing, Athos lifted his head to look at the young Gascon. He knew without even having to read his mind that D’artagnan would just keep asking until Athos told him. Reaching out for his 2 missing brothers, Athos cringed at the anger in Porthos’ head. The bigger man was furious with him. Almost as angry as Athos was with himself. Aramis on the other hand was keeping his mind as bland as possible but Athos could still feel the edges of Savoy circling the younger man’s mind.

“Have you ever heard of the Savoy operation?” D’artagnan nodded. While Savoy was in theory a classified operation everyone in the French army knew about the disastrous operation that had left 20 soldiers and 38 civilians dead.

“Aramis was there.” Athos continued, seeing the moment D’artagnan realised what he had just said.

“Aramis…how did he survive that?” D’artagnan couldn’t believe it. From what he had heard about the injuries th edead men had received there was no feasible way that anyone could survive it. And yet they had. Aramis had.

“Because it’s Aramis and he’s the most stubborn man I have ever met.” Athos said, a small smile appearing on his face as he remembered all the times Aramis’ stubbornness had annoyed him.

“I thought he could only heal other people, not himself.” D’artagnan asked, still trying to understand how Aramis had survived a literal massacre.

“He can’t. But he did heal 2 children. They survived. I have no idea where they are now.” Athos sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he listened to Aramis’ mind slowly calming. Porthos was one of the few things that could bring Aramis back from the brink of drowning in the memories of Savoy.

“I’m not 100% sure what happened in Savoy.” Athos started, hearing in D’artagnan’s mind the 100 questions that he had. “I don’t believe anyone but Aramis does. He told Treville some of it, though the Captain ever believed he got the whole story. And he has told myself and Porthos some of it.” Athos didn’t mention that he had seen in Aramis’ mind more than the younger man had told them. The fact that Aramis had tried unsuccessfully to save his friends lives even though they were already dead. The fact that Aramis had almost gotten himself killed when he tried to save the two children. These were images from Aramis’ mind that Athos had no right to know. Let alone share.

“Will he be ok?” D’artagnan asked. D’artagnan had known soldiers who had gone though things not even half as bad as Savoy and been plagued with PTSD.

“He is better than what he was but he had bad days. But we are always there to pick up the pieces.” Except for when Athos was so drunk he didn’t even know his friend was in trouble.

“I will ask Treville for the rest of the day off. We won’t be getting any work done today.” Athos said, getting to his feet as both Porthos and Aramis re-entered the room.

………….

They all ended up at Porthos’ apartment. D’artagnan had rummaged around the bigger man’s impressive DVD collection before settling on Harry Potter. He’d always loved those movies as a kid.

Aramis was sat on the small couch with Porthos. He was still a bit pale but his eyes had lost some of the haunted look in them as he sat with his friends. Every now and again Porthos was squeeze his shoulder, just to remind him he was safe. That he wasn’t in Savoy.

By the time they had gotten half way through the 4th film it was nearing midnight and Porthos and D’artagnan were both snoring gently. Athos sat clutching the same glass of wine he had been holding the whole time. He hadn’t drunk a drop. He wouldn’t.

Athos could feel Aramis’ gaze on him as he resolutely stared at the TV screen. He wasn’t really watching it though, instead he was waiting for Aramis to say something. “It wasn’t your fault.” Aramis said as if he could read minds to.

Athos ignored him, instead continuing to stare at the screen only for Aramis to turn it off on him. From the younger man’s minds Athos could tell he didn’t appreciate being ignored. “Athos, you can’t watch keep watch all the time.”

“You suffered alone because I was too drunk to hear you.” Athos growled before he could stop himself. He hadn’t meant to engage Aramis in conversation, he couldn’t bare to hear the disappointment in Aramis voice or thoughts. Except there was no disappointment or anger.

“Porthos isn’t mad you know. Not with you at least.” Aramis replied, gaze dropping to his hands which had stopped shaking half way through the movie marathon.

“He’s not mad at you either.” Athos replied to the unspoken thought. “Savoy wasn’t your fault. There was nothing more you could have done.” Aramis didn’t reply. Athos knew the younger man well enough to know he didn’t believe a word of what Athos had just said without having to read his mind.

“I’m going to get sober.” Athos announced after a few minutes of silence had passed. “Not because of you.” Athos started, hearing the protest in Aramis’ mind before he could say anything. “At least not fully.” Athos sighed. He’d been thinking about it a lot as he sat watching his friends.

How long had known Aramis and Porthos, 6 no 7 years now. They were his brothers. His family. They didn’t judge his drinking, accepting it as part of him. They knew that he suffered, that the voices in his head didn’t let him rest that drinking was the only way Athos could control them. They also knew Athos had a deeper secret. They didn’t know about Anne exactly. They certainly didn’t know that she had killed his first brother. But they didn’t ask questions, they just accepted him as he was.

And D’artagnan. They’d only known each other for 2 months but Athos felt as if he’d known the younger man so much longer. He was like Thomas in a lot of ways. Eager to please, always happy. A good man. A good brother. And Athos loved him as dearly as he did Aramis and Porthos. The three of them were his family. And seeing how badly Athos had let Aramis down, not been there for him when he needed him to be there for him because he had drunk himself into such a stupor that he hadn’t even known Aramis needed him. Well, it had brought Athos’ world crashing down a bit.

“If you’re sure.” Aramis started, shuffling closer to Athos so he could take his hand. “Then we’re here for you. All for one.”

Athos felt a smile grace his lips as he replied, “and one for all.”


	7. Chapter 7

They should have known this mission was going to be a shitshow. A new drug was being sold around Paris that had resulted in the deaths of a large number of teenagers and drug addicts. The musketeers had been assigned to look into it by the police commissioner and their research had lead them to one man at the top. Vadim. He was dangerous and was responsible for countless murders, even though no one could prove it.

It had taken the better part of a month to build a case against the man. A difficult feat accomplished in no small amount because of D’artagnan. The young man, still new to the musketeers and desperate to prove himself, had found the key piece of evidence they needed to link Vadim to the drugs being sold. In Vadim’s arrogance, he had put all of the details of his operation hidden away in the home of his girlfriend Suzette. D’artagnan had been the one to figure this out, noticing on one of the many stakeouts how many times Vadim visited her home when she wasn’t there.

2 days later and they had all the evidence they could have dreamed for and a warrant to arrest him.

Except it hadn’t gone to plan. Somehow Vadim knew they were coming, an informant Athos suspected. Probably one of the red guard as the musketeers has been forced to work closely with the Paris police force as this was in theory their turf.

Thus resulting in their current situation.

“Stop that, you’ll hurt yourself.” Aramis scolded Porthos as the bigger man once more attempted to break the cuffs currently trying him to the chair. 

The usually super strong man cursed loudly as the metal cuffs refused to bend let alone snap. His wrists were bleeding from where hey had cut into his skin when he tried to break them. “How the hell did Vadim manage this?” Porthos growled as he once more attempted to break the cuffs.

Athos could only sigh as he stared up at the ceiling. How indeed. They’d had intel that Vadim was hiding out in a warehouse and when they turned up it had turned out to be a trap. All four had been knocked unconscious with a knockout gas which Vadim had thrown into the room within minutes of them turning up there. That in itself was more of an annoyance than anything else. The real problem occurred when they woke up a few hours later in a dingy room, chained to chairs and unable to get out.

“I didn’t even know you could get a drug to stop your powers.” Porthos huffed as he once more attempted to break the metal cuffs.

“That’s because it’s illegal to have it.” Aramis replied. The man seemed far to relaxed from where he was sitting or rather lounging on the metal chair. If his hands weren’t tied behind his back it would appear as if Aramis was sitting on his chair in work.

“All the more ammunition to throw at Vadim to send him down.” D’artagnan growled. The younger man was rattling the cuffs bending his hands behind his back angrily, not that it would do much good.

“So, any ideas?” Aramis asked brightly, gaining a snort from Porthos. D’artagnan just looked at Aramis as if he was crazy. How could he be so damned happy about this.

Athos just closed his eyes for a moment. Strangely, even in their current predicament he couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. His mind was quiet. For once everything was quiet. It was blissful, if not a bit disconcerting. 6 months into being sober and this was the first time Athos had had a proper rest from the voices.

The door creaking open pulled Athos out of thoughts. Vadim stood in front of them grinning. “You can’t keep us here.” D’artagnan shouted which made Vadim grin.

“Sure I can. I’m keeping you here right now.” Vadim smiled, a bottle and syringe in his hand. “Now, I very helpful lady has handed me all of the evidence that you collected. All of the evidence that would have sent me to jail. So I’ve decided to burn it.” Athos frowned, not liking the gleeful tone of Vadim’s voice. 

“What about us?” Aramis asked, glaring at the man in front of them. As much as Athos hated the voices, he truly wished he could read Vadim’s mind now to know what the hell the man was so happy about.

“Well, you’re witnesses. Which means you all have to die I’m afraid.” Vadim looked at the syringe in front of him then shrugged. “I’ll give you a chance though, because I’m a fair man.”

“An insane one you mean.” D’artagnan snarled, causing Vadim to laugh.

“Maybe, but I do like a game. So here’s what’s going to happen. I’m leaving. You’ll never see me again.” Athos didn’t like were this was going and from the concerned looks on his brothers’ faces he didn’t think they did either. “In 6 minutes, an explosion is going to go off. It will destroy everything in this warehouse. Including you 4. But I’m nothing if not fair. I won’t inject you with any more drugs to stop your powers from coming back. If they come back before the explosion goes off you might live. If not you die.”

“Why are you doing this?” D’artagnan shouted as Vadim turned to close the door behind him.

“Because I’m getting paid a great deal of money to be kill you. I could just kill you right now, but where’s the fun in that.” And with that Vadim closed the door.

“What the hell do we do now?” Porthos grunted and Athos truly had no answer.

……..

3 minutes before the bombs were meant to go off and Porthos finally felt some give in his chains. “I think my powers are coming back.” Porthos grunted. They weren’t as strong as they should be but they were better than nothing. After a few more seconds of tugging, he was finally able to get the cuffs off. Quickly, he jumped into action freeing his other friends.

“Now we just need to open the door.” D’artagnan chirped. Porthos grunted, pushing at the large metal door and swearing. The door creaked but it didn’t budge. 

“Porthos, hurry up.” Athos was shaking were he stood next to Aramis. The voices were returning in a slow murmur. It was hard to pick full words yet but they were there.

“I’m trying.” Porthos grunted, shoving the door again. This time it moved. 

“I can help.” D’artagnan suddenly announced. Before Porthos could ask how the door started to rock backwards. It wasn’t steady or strong but between D’artagnan and Porthos’ reduced powers they managed to get the door open.

They said nothing as all 4 pounded down through the empty warehouse to the set of doors outside. “I can hear Treville. He’s maybe a mile out.” Athos supplied through gritted teeth as they reached the front door. Locked.

“We don’t have time.” Aramis muttered, as Porthos and D’artagnan once more worked to get the door open.

As the door popped open an explosion rocked the building and Athos was thrown forwards and into blackness.

……….

Treville swore as he saw black smoke building up from the warehouse his team had headed to not 4 hours before. A car had sped was speeding in the opposite direction and Treville could have sworn he saw Vadim in the driver’s seat. He directed one set of musketeers to bring the man in while he put his foot hard on the accelerator to get to his team.

……..

Aramis blinked bleary eyes as he came into awareness. There was a sharp ringing in his ears and he was lying on something hard and solid. Stone. Blinking, Aramis looked above him and saw bright sky. Looking back he could see fire engulfing the warehouse behind him, lifting his hands to his aching head he felt blood pouring between his fingers. It took Aramis’ confused brain a few more seconds to realise what was happening and then he was lurching to his feet.

“Hey, steady.” Porthos put a reassuring grip onto Aramis’ arm as Aramis lurched sideways, almost toppling over.

“You’re ok?” Aramis blinked blearily, his bofy still not recovered from being unconscious.

“Yeah, just a few scrapes.” Porthos replied with a soft grin. Aramis sighed in small relief as he looked the bigger man over. The bigger man was covered in a fine sheen of dust and blood coming from small cuts but looked otherwise whole. “You look worse than I feel.” Porthos grinned, motioning to the bleeding cut at Aramis’ temple. “And you’re pupils are different sizes.”

“I’m fine.” Aramis slurred. He would deal with himself first. First he they had to find Athos and D’artagnan.

“D’artagnan’s over here.” Athos’ shout came from behind Aramis and Porthos. Closer to the burning building. “I can hear him.” Aramis and Porthos knew Athos meant he could hear their younger teammate’s mind as they couldn’t hear anything above the blazing fire surrounding the building.

The three started to move debris from around where Athos said he could hear D’artagnan when Porthos unearthed D’artagnan’s body. He was pinned under a large piece of timber that had fallen from the ceiling. “Move back.” Porthos warned as he lifted the heavy timber that was holding D’artagnan down. It was a greater lift than it would have been with his full strength back but Porthos was just glad he could lift it far enough for Aramis and Athos to pull D’artagnan out.

A second later there was an almighty groan as the warehouse seemed to cave in on itself. Dust flew all around them and for a dizzying moment, Porthos thought they were going to be crushed under the brick and dust. But it quickly disappeared and Porthos stumbled over to where Athos and Aramis were crowding around D’artagnan’s body.

There was a large shard of wood in his chest, blood covering floor underneath them. “Aramis, do something.” Athos pleaded. He could hear D’artagnan’s mind failing. He’d been in the minds of people who had died and he knew a dying mind when he saw one. If they weren’t quick then D’artagnan would die.

“Porthos pull the wood out of D’artagnan chest when I say.” Porthos moved to D’artagnan’s side at Aramis’ words. Aramis looked pale from where he was knelt on the other side of D’artagnan’s body.

“Do you have enough of your powers back to do this?” Athos whispered; he’d heard the doubt in Aramis’ mind. The drug Vadim had used had incapacitated all of their powers and this would be a difficult ask when Aramis had his full powers back let alone when would be lucky to have half of them.

“I have to.” Aramis grunted. He lifted D’artagnan’s shirt and looked at Porthos. “Ready.” Porthos nodded, taking hold of the wooden splinter that was killing their friend. As soon as Aramis said so, Porthos pulled the wooden stake (as that was what it looked like to Porthos as he pulled it out) and watched D’artagnan’s blood ooze out more freely at the wound.

Distantly Aramis heard sirens and thought Treville was nearly hear as he felt the familiar burn in his skin as his power went into D’artagnan. Porthos watched as D’artagnan’s chest slowly start to knit itself together.

It wasn’t fully closed by the time Aramis lost consciousness and collapsed onto floor but D’artagnan’s skin was no longer horrendously pale and the blood had stopped flowing freely from the wound.

………

Treville couldn’t help the worry fill him as he looked at his 4 best musketeers sitting (or lying unconscious in the case of D’artagnan and Aramis) beside the building. “They’re fine. We’re all fine.” Athos whispered and the Captain let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

…………

The first thing D’artagnan became aware of as he drew back into consciousness was the soft bed underneath him and the pain in his lower abdomen. “Careful.” Athos reprimanded him and D’artagnan’s eyes fluttered open and his hand went to the wad of bandages wrapped around his stomach.

“What happened?” D’artagnan asked. He remembered the explosion and pushing Athos through the door and then nothing.

“You were impaled with a large wooden shard when the building collapsed. You should have died but…” Here Athos trailed off, not needing words. They had all been healed by Aramis at some point in the field. Their job resulted in a fair number of injuries being passed along so Aramis’ power was a great help in easing them, even if it did take a toll on Aramis himself.

“Is he ok?” Athos nodded over to a second bed in the hospital room where Aramis was lying in the bed sleeping. Porthos was leaning in the chair next to Aramis, a reassuring hand on the younger mans’ hand. Both looked peaceful in sleep.

“Get some sleep.” Athos replied and D’artagnan found himself closing his eyes and drifting once more into peaceful blackness.

…………….

The next time D’artagnan woke up he could hear voices. “Stop touching it.” Porthos growled as Aramis once more tested the stitches running up the cut on his scalp.

“I’m just checking their work. We can’t have it scarring it would ruin my lovely face.” Aramis grinned, letting his hand drop back onto the sheets. 

“I thought women liked scars.” Athos replied, earning a snort from Porthos and a grin from Aramis. “I think our other invalid is awake now.” Athos continued as D’artagnan opened his eyes only to find 3 sets staring at him.

“How are you feeling?” Aramis asked. D’artagnan took a moment to assess, knowing that his 3 friends would know if he was lying.

“A bit sore but otherwise ok.” 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t heal it fully…” Aramis started only for Porthos to cut him off.

“None of that. D’artagnan would be dead if it wasn’t for you.” 

“And I thank you for that.” D’artagnan replied, meeting Aramis’ gaze with an open smile.

“You’re all awake then.” Treville stated as he walked into the room followed closely by Constance (who worked in the hospital as a nurse) D’artagnan couldn’t help the grin that split his face as Constance hurried over to his side and took hold of his hand.

“About time to. You’ve been unconscious for 2 days.” Constance said, rubbing D’artagnan’s hand in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. From the way D’artagnan smiled at her she thought it was even as her heart did a flutter. “I should get back. I have other patients to look after, I just wanted to make sure you were alright.” Before D’artagnan could say anything, Constance has disappeared out of the room. 

“Ah, young love.” Aramis grinned.

“She’s been in here watching the Doctor’s like a hawk.” Porthos grinned, enjoying the blush that came over D’artagnan’s face.

“She has.” D’artagnan couldn’t help the happy grin that flew over his face. He had fell for the hot-headed redhead as soon as he had taken up her offer of a room in her home. 

“Vadim?” Athos asked.

“Not talking.” Treville replied. Athos and Porthos had filled him in on what happened and it concerned him greatly. The fact that someone was illegally trading in drugs that could subdue a powered ones powers was bad enough but from what Vadim said someone was specifically targeting these four. They had been luck this time but when whoever had paid Vadim found out they were still alive they would surely try again.

But that was a worry for another day. Right now Treville was just grateful that they were all alive.


End file.
